An  All-American 
Pageant  for  the 
Recognition  of  the 
Republic  of  Ireland 


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MRS.  W.  A.  KING 


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An  All-American  Pageant 
for  the  Recognition  of  the 
Republic  of  Ireland 


(SECOND  EDITION) 


Written  for  the 

Commodore  Jack  Barry  Council  of  the  A.  A.  R.  I.  R. 
by  its  President,  Mrs.  W.  A.  King 


PUBLISHED  BY 

COLUMBIAN  PRINTING  AND  PUBLISHING  CO. 
COLUMBUS,  OHIO 


DEDICATION 


To  my  friend,  Miss  Mary  MacSwiney,  brave, 
brilliant  and  illustrious  daughter  of  the  Repu  blic 
of  Ireland,  this  little  work  of  mine  is  affectionately 
dedicated. 


FOREWORD 

Awakened  the  other  night,  by  a  vivid  and  terrifying 
memory  dream  of  my  experiences  in  Galway  (September  8th, 
1920),  I  was  unable  to  resume  sleep.  I  heard  the  clock 
in  the  nearby  Congregational  Church  tower  strike  three,  the 
hour  when  the  savage  Black-and-Tans  are  doing  their  deadliest 
work  among  the  suffering  inhabitants  of  Ireland;  thought 
groped  frantically  for  some  way  to  help  this  brave  and  tor¬ 
tured  people.  Presently  I  heard  the  bells  in  the  church  next 
door  chiming  the  morning  Angelus.  The  pageant  that  follows 
had,  in  the  interim,  passed  in  detail  before  my  mind’s  eye. 

To  do  any  good  for  Ireland,  it  must  reach  my  fellow 
Americans  promptly,  and  so  I  send  it  forth  in  all  possible 
haste,  letting  my  eagerness  apologize  for  its  shortcoming. 

MRS.  W.  A.  KING. 


Ironton,  0.,  March  7,  1921. 


(Copyright  Applied  For) 


Miss  Republic  of  Ireland  to  Uncle  Sam — 0  just  power  among  the  nations, 
have  the  bravery  to  call  me  by  my  right  name,  and  itl  will  give  me  strength 
and  aid  beyond  your  believing!  Scene  II. 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 


Appearing  in  the  Initial  Performance  of  This  Pageant,  Orpheum 
Theatre,  Ironton,  Ohio,  March  17,  1921 

Prologue . Alice  Hart  Sechlar 

Goddess  of  Liberty . Anne  Loder 

Donal  O’Callaghan,  Lord  Mayor  of  Cork . Lee  O’Leary 

Secretary  of  State . Leo  Mulligan 

Secretary  of  Labor . Bert  Cohen 

Republic  of  Ireland . Mrs.  W.  A.  King 

Little  Jack  Tory . Joseph  Watters 

Columbia . Catherine  Cecilia  Massie 

John  Bull . . . Bill  Schachleiter 

Women  Relatives  of  the  Boston  Tea  Party  Men — 

Mother . Mrs  Michael  Kinney 

Wife . . . . Mary  Alice  Smith 

Sister . . . Florence  V.  Ferrie 

% 

Mrs.  Banjamin  Franklin . Ethel  Goodman  Foster 

Mrs.  Samuel  Adams . Elizabeth  F.  Burke 

Mrs.  John  Hancock . Ruth  Cloran 

Reading — “Paul  Revere’s  Ride” . Lucille  Murray 

Ethan  Allen’s  daughter . Mildred  McCarthy 

Relatives  of  the  “Minute  Men” — 

Mother . Mrs.  Henry  B.  Goldcamp 

Wife  . Genevieve  Gallagher 

Sister  . Agnes  Gorman 

Victim  . Helen  Cloran 

Invalid  Victim  . Margaret  Lutz 

Mrs.  James  Madison . Mary  Rooney 

Mrs.  Thomas  Jefferson . Anne  B.  O’Leary 

Reading — “Liberty  Bell” . Philippa  Jefferys 

Mrs.  John  Adams . Mary  O’Neill 

Mrs.  George  Washington . Gertrude  McMahon 

Republic  of  France . Katherine  Eisele 

Spirit  of  the  Red  Cross . . . Mrs.  W.  H.  Crawford 

Little  Angel,  White  Cross . Christine  Klein 

Reading — “Atrocities  of  Ireland” . Helena  O’Leary 

Uncle  Sam . . . Charles  Cloran 

The  Yanks  . 

Edward  Smith,  Hilliard  Weiler,  Leo  Brumberg,  James  Camp¬ 
bell,  Julius  Brumberg,  P.  A.  Burke,  Bert  Cohen,  Bill  Schach¬ 
leiter,  Lee  O’Leary,  Charles  L.  Collett. 

Spirit  of  the  Dead  “Boys” . Edward  Rist 

Train  Bearers — Children  of  All  Nations . 

. Alberta  Schachleiter,  Virginia  Rogers,  Rowena 

Edelson,  James  Mayne,  Margaret  Eisele,  William  Thomas  Cloran 

Pianist  .  .Elizabeth  Branigan 


4 


The  American  Pageant 


SCENE  i. 

LIBERTY  in  left  center  of  stage. 

Enter  DONAL  O’CALLAGHAN,  Lord  Mayor  of  Cork,  who  stealthily 
makes  his  way  to  the  GODDESS  OF  LIBERTY  and  clings  to  her. 

To  the  right. 

Enter  SECRETARY  OF  STATE  and  SECRETARY  OF  LABOR. 

They  look  toward  the  figure  of  the  exile  and  begin  talking  seri¬ 
ously  together.  Business  of  showing  favor  and  kindliness  to 
exile  when  JACK  TORY,  grandson  of  John  Bull,  quietly  makes  his 
way  to  the  two  men  and,  unnoticed  by  them,  stands  between  them. 
Business,  then,  of  looking  unfavorably  upon  the  exile. 

Jack  Tory  shakes  his  head  and  smiles. 

The  two  men  beckon  exile  away  from  LIBERTY;  hand  him  sea¬ 
man’s  card  of  departure  and  beckon  him  to  go. 

JACK  TORY,  satisfied,  withdraws. 

DONAL  O’CALLAGHAN,  passing  off  stage,  looks  back  to  LIBERTY 
and  is  met  by  MISS  IRISH  REPUBLIC. 

Enter  MISS  IRISH  REPUBLIC.  Embraces  her  son. 

MISS  I.  R. — Will  they  not  let  you  stay,  my  son? 

LORD  MAYOR  OF  CORK — They  have  not  yet  made  final  decision. 

At  this  point  JOHN  BULL  walks  quietly  around  the  stage, 
glowering  at  them. 

MISS  I.  R. — Fear  him  not,  son.  Though  he  deprive  you  of  justice 
here  and  of  mercy  “Over  There,”  know  “the  valiant  never  taste 
of  death  but  once,”  remember  the  great  valor  of  thy  predecessor, 
and  his  exalted  prayer. 

DONAL  O’CALLAGHAN— I  do  remember. 

DONAL  O’CALLAGHAN  retreats,  looking  back  at  LIBERTY,  who 
shows  signs  of  distress. 

MISS  I.  R. — Go  then,  my  son,  he  cannot  harm  thee.  Soliloquizes.  He 
goes,  he  goes  to  certain  death!  Well  may  his  predecessor,  my 
glorious  son,  have  prayed  “teach  us  how  to  die.”  (Beginning  with 
the  prayer  of  her  martyred  son,  Terence  Mac.Swiney.) 

God,  we  enter  our  last  fight; 

Thou  dost  see  our  cause  is  right; 

Make  us  march  now  in  Thy  sight 
On  to  victory. 

Let  us  not  Thy  wrath  deserve 
In  the  sacred  cause  we  serve; 

Let  us  not  from  danger  swerve; 

Teach  us  how  to  die. 

Death  for  some  is  in  reserve 
Before  our  flag  can  fly. 


5 


Alone!  Alone!  Alone!  Is  there  no  one  to  befriend  me;  I  who  have 
befriended  so  many? 

LIBERTY — Be  brave  of  heart,  my  daughter;  there  is  one  who  will 
hear  thy  story.  She  comes.  Be  of  good  cheer. 

Sound  of  song,  “Oh,  Columbia,  the  Gem  of  the  Ocean!” 

Enter  MISS  COLUMBIA  and  train-bearers,  the  children  of  all  na¬ 
tions.  Each  child  is  busily  engaged  in  holding  her  train,  except 
JACK  TORY,  who  keeps  dropping  it  and  stepping  on  it.  This 
halts  a  little  Miss  Columbia’s  onward  march. 

MISS  COLUMBIA  takes  her  place  to  the  left  of  LIBERTY. 

TRAIN-BEARERS  retreat,  except  JACK  TORY,  who  keeps 
watching  and  listening.  Goes  to  side  of  stage,  takes  hold  of  ex¬ 
tended  hand  of  John  Bull. 

MISS  I.  R. — Do  you  not  know  me? 

MISS  COLUMBIA— No,  I  do  not. 

MISS  I.  R. — I  am  the  Republic  of  Ireland. 

MISS  COLUMBIA — I  have  never  heard  of  you. 

MISS  I.  R. — Have  never  heard  of  me? 

MISS  COLUMBIA — No,  I  have  heard  of  Ireland  as  a  British  colony. 

MISS  I.  R. — I  am  not  that.  I  never  was  nor  never  will  be  that.  For 
750  years  I  have  fought  against  the  name.  Why  call  me  British 
colony?  I  that  was  old  in  civilization  and  nationhood  while 
Britain  hordes  were  yet  untamed.  Know'  that  to  my  ancient  uni¬ 
versities  flocked  the  scholars  of  all  Europe  to  learn  of  me  in  science, 
in  law,  in  art,  in  music,  in  literature  and  in  religion.  You  call 
me  British  colony — my  proud  spirit  never  stooped  so  low!  My  sea¬ 
girt  country  is  small,  ’tis  true,  but  the  role  my  children  have 
played  in  civilization’s  history  is  great  indeed — for  my  nation¬ 
hood  is  an  ancient  and  honorable  one — brilliant  in  learning,  un¬ 
soiled  by  crime.  Even  in  Pagan  times  my  Brehon  code  led  other 
nations  of  the  world  in  laws  marked  with  mercy  and  with  justice, 
and  when  that  code  was  revised  to  meet  the  requirements  of 
Christian  teaching  very  slight  the  changes  needed,  so  pure  and 
so  lofty  the  native  moral  sense  of  my  people. 

Mark  well,  O,  Columbia!  this  fact.  My  Pagan  children 
formed  the  ONLY  nation  in  the  world  to  accept  the  full  teachings 
of  Christianity  without  the  shedding  of  a  single  drop  of  blood. 
This  in  itself  lent  radiant  glory  to  my  escutcheon  which  has  not 
faded  through  all  the  suffering  centuries  since  first  the  tyrant  set 
heel  upon  my  shore.  Conscious  ever  of  this,  their  high  singular¬ 
ity,  my  brave  sons  in  every  generation  have  felt  their  right  to 
reassert  Ireland’s  place  among  the  nations,  but  the  tyrant’s 
might  outdoes  their  right  and  the  exalted  valor  of  my  sons  can¬ 
not  match  the  invader’s  cruelty  and  cunning. 

Falsehood,  deceit,  robbery  and  death  stalk  with  him  over  my 
green  isle,  and  his  despotism  has  ever  been  on  the  increase 
until,  in  this  day,  he  has  become  twenty  Neros  wrapped  in  one. 
He  burns  my  towns  and  cities — he  destroys  my  commerce — 
he  strangles  all  industrial  progress — he  tortures,  slays,  yea,  he 
butchers  my  men,  my  women,  and  children.  And  while  he  does 
these  deeds  in  Ireland,  he  turns  a  holy  face  unto  the  outside 
world,  hypocritically  bemoaning  the  sad  fate  of  other  small 
oppressed  nations.  With  blood-dripping  hands  he  throttles  the 
cable  lest  the  appalling  story  of  his  own  crime  rouse  all  humanity 
to  righteous  wrath. 

MISS  COLUMBIA  shows  signs  of  interest. 

6 


JOHN  BULL  walks  close  behind  her  and  her  manner  changes. 

MISS  COLUMBIA — I  have  no  proof  of  your  story  and  it  is  very  in¬ 
credible.  I  have  heard  from  a  reliable  source — that  is,  my  Pub¬ 
lic  Press— that  the  Irish  people  are  ignorant,  cowardly  and  quar¬ 
relsome,  totally  unfit  to  govern  themselves. 

John  Bull,  showing  signs  of  great  satisfaction,  walks  off  stage. 

MISS  I.  R. — (Looking  appealingly  at  Liberty.)  She  does  not  know 
me.  She  does  not  believe  my  story. 

LIBERTY — Wait;  we  shall  summon  the  truthful  spirits  of  the  dead. 
Their  prescient  power  knows  your  story  as  it  is.  They  will 
awaken  memories  and  through  them  Columbia  will  believe. 

Enter  WOMEN  OF  REVOLUTION  and  of  1812. 

MISS  I.  R. — (Eagerly  questions  them).  Do  you  know  me? 

MRS.  GEO.  WASHINGTON — Ah!  We  know  you  well.  We  call  you 
by  your  newest  and  best  name — (chorus  loudly) — the  REPUBLIC 
OF  IRELAND. 

MISS  I.  R. — Oh,  friends  of  mine,  can  you  not  explain  so  she  will  be¬ 
lieve,  how  England  overruns  my  fair  land  with  cruel  soldiers 
and  criminal  BLACK  and  TANS — how  her  great  armies  with  gas 
tanks,  machine  guns,  and  all  the  implements  of  modern  warfare, 
hunt  down  my  brave  boys,  “on  the  run,”  one  by  one,  and  without 
charge  or  trial  dispatch  them  to  prison  or  eternity  ?  Can  you  not 
explain  how  in  the  long  past  her  unjust  laws  have  bred  discon¬ 
tent  and  poverty  among  my  children  and  how  now — in  this  present 
hour — her  one  intent  is  to  massacre,  to  the  last  man,  my  brave 
people;  reporting  to  the  world,  through  her  paid  press,  that  the 
patriotic  sons  of  Ireland  seeking  to  defend  their  country’s  rights 
and  the  lives  and  virtue  of  their  helpless  women  are  MURDER 
GANGS  who  kill  innocent  British  Officers  of  law  and  order,  and 
force  crown  troops  to  carry  out  British  reprisals. 

CHORUS — We  can  explain. 

BOSTON  TEA  PARTY  MOTHER — In  the  days  leading  to  ’76  we,  too, 
suffered.  I  am  the  mother  of  an  unnamed  hero,  one  who,  because 
he  could  not,  in  conscience,  obey  the  unjust  taxation  laws  of 
England,  disguised  himself  as  an  Indian  and  went  down  with 
fellow  volunteers  to  the  tea-ship  lying  in  the  Boston  harbor  and 
helped  to  throw  its  cargo  into  the  sea. 

WIFE — Our  people  called  that  act  the  “Boston  Tea  Party.”*  Co¬ 
lumbia,  you  remember  the  Boston  Tea  Party?  Not  a  man, 
woman  or  child  in  Boston  who  did  not  know  the  men  that  defied 
Britain’s  unjust  law,  but  none  would  tell,  though  many  suffered, 
were  punished  even  by  death,  for  keeping  the  secret. 

SISTER — British  troops  made  house  to  house  search  in  some  of  the 
outlying  districts  that  night,  but  failed  to  find  a  single  rebel 
“Indian.”  There  were  a  few  scattered  Tories  in  our  neighborhood 
and  because  of  these  spies  my  brave  brother  slept  far  from  home 
for  many  nights  following  the  Boston  Tea  Party. 

My  mother  and  I  spent  that  anxious  time  in  prayer,  asking 
God  to  protect  him  and  his  fellow  Volunteers. 

MISS  COLUMBIA — Oh!  my  heroic  children,  not  a  false  word  have  you 
uttered.  The  story  of  the  Boston  Tea  Party  is  deeply  engraven  on 
my  heart. 

*  See  Note  on  page  18. 


7 


MRS.  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN — And  even  in  that  day  England  tried 
to  subsidize  our  press.  Do  you  not  remember  what  a  great 
struggle  my  husband  had  to  get  the  truth  out  to  the  scattered 
colonists  against  the  lies  circulated  from  Boston  Castle?  Eng¬ 
land  took  money  from  us  not  only  by  unjust  taxation,  but  by 
direct  robbing  and  looting  of  our  homes  and  shops,  only  to  pay 
it  out  to  her  loyal  Tories  that  they  might  distribute  false 
bulletins  among  the  brave  rebels.  These  bulletins  were  re-pub¬ 
lished  abroad  and  made  my  husband’s  work  in  Europe  a  difficult 
task,  indeed.  In  Ireland,  only,  was  it  easy  for  him  to  reach  the 
ear  of  the  people.  He  was  given  an  immediate  and  generous 
hearing  in  the  Irish  Parliament  in  College  Green,  Dublin,  and 
this  big-hearted  and  brave  people  pledged  their  help,  in  money 
and  in  men,  to  our  struggling  colonists.  My  husband  ever  held 
his  plea  before  the  Irish  people  as  a  heartening  inspiration  to 
our  cause. 

’Tis  a  pity — a  great  pity — that  when  Ireland’s  noble  sons 
now  come  to  seek  like  assistance  from  us,  we  turn  a  deaf  ear  to 
their  story. 

MISS  COLUMBIA — Ah!  I  begin  to  understand  how  it  is  with  this 
stranger. 

MRS.  SAMUEL  ADAMS — You  call  her  stranger?  Neither  she  nor 
her  story  is  stranger  to  me.  I  know  so  well  what  she  means 
when  she  speaks  of  her  boys  ‘‘On  the  Run  Being  Hunted  Down 
One  By  One.”  My  husband,  Samuel  Adams,  was  what  the  Irish 
would  say  a  boy  “On  the  Run.”  Leading  spirit  that  he  was 
among  the  volunteers,  England  called  him  Rebel  Leader  and  as 
such  placed  a  price  upon  his  head  alive  or  dead.  She  charged  him 
with  crime.  Is  it  crime  to  be  loyal  to  one’s  native  land?  She 
wished  to  drag  him  away  from  his  fellows,  over  to  England,  to  try 
him  there.  Well  we  know  that  when  an  exile  is  tried  in  an  Eng¬ 
lish  Court  neither  mercy  nor  justice  peeks  in  on  the  proceedings, 
so  the  volunteer  boys  determined  their  leader  should  not  go, 
and,  God  bless  the  boys,  though  the  troops  were  after  him  from 
Boston  to  Lexington  and  on  to  Concord  town,  he  did  not  go. 

MRS.  JOHN  HANCOCK — No;  nor  did  they  catch  my  husband,  who 
was  “on  the  run”  with  him.  England  thought  because  we  had 
wealth  and  standing  in  our  day,  she  could  intimidate  him  by 
threatening  destruction  of  his  property,  but  my  husband,  John 
Hancock,  goes  down  in  history  as  living  up  to  his  words  uttered 
in  Fanuiel  Hall:  “I  should  be  willing  to  spend  my  fortune  and 
life  itself  in  so  good  a  cause.”  He  lived  to  see  the  good  cause 
triumph;  our  colonies  divorced  from  that  mother-country  which 
had  long  since  ceased  to  act  as  mother. 

MRS.  SAMUEL  ADAMS — One  night  when  our  boys  were  “on  the 
run,”  the  brave  volunteers  were  on  the  watch-out  lest  the  British 
soldiers  catch  them  unawares.  You  have  heard  the  story  of  that 
night  in  April,  1775,  when  Paul  Revere  rode  to  inform  their  de¬ 
fenders  that  the  Red  Coats  were  coming. 

Come  hither,  sprite,  and  tell  the  tale  once  more! 

Small  child  recites  “Ride  of  Paul  Revere.”* 

ETHAN  ALLEN’S  DAUGHTER  FRANCES— Dost  mark  the  words, 
oh,  fair  Columbia,  and  in  this  present  hour  when  a  little  suffering 
sister  republic  pleads  with  you  for  that  recognition  which  would 
lend  to  her  heroic  struggle  for  independence  great  moral  force, 
can  you  not  call  again  upon  your  people  to  “waken  and  listen 
to  hear  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere“? 

WOMEN  OF  MINUTE  MEN — (Who  strive  to  explain  the  phrase 
“murder  gangs”  to  Miss  Columbia). 

*  See  Note  on  page  20. 


8 


I 


MOTHER — You  hear  her  (pointing  to  Republic  of  Ireland)  tell  you 
that  England  calls  the  brave  Irish  volunteers  who  strive  to  de¬ 
fend  the  government  established  by  the  people,  for  the  people, 
and  of  the  people,  MURDER  GANGS.  Have  you  forgotten  the 
MURDER  GANG  of  our  time — the  greatest  gang  the  world  has 
ever  known? 

i  1 

SISTER — Yes,  and  the  shots  they  fired  were  “heard  ’round  the 
world.” 

WIFE — You  did  not  look  on  our  boys  as  MURDER  GANGS — you 
called  them — 

CHORUS  (three  ladies)— The  Minute  Men!!! 

MOTHER — And,  can’t  you  remember  how  brave  we  women  were  in 
helping  them  to  load  their  guns  and  in  bidding  them  God-speed 
as  they  hurried  from  our  doors  to  wait  behind  fences  to  pepper  the 
Red  Coats  as  they  came. 

SISTER — And,  Oh,  how  they  peppered  them!  On  the  following 
morn  the  road  was  full  of  dead  “officers  of  law  and  order.” 

WIFE — Let  me  ask  you,  Columbia,  is  it  fair  for  us  to  speak  glow¬ 
ingly  of  our  volunteers  as  MINUTE  MEN  and  foully  of  Irish 
volunteers  as  MURDER  GANGS  ? 

(MISS  IRISH  REPUBLIC  covers  her  face  as  if  thinking.) 

MISS  COLUMBIA — ’Twould  be  best  if  my  press  ceased  to  call  them 
that. 

CHORUS  (Ladies  of  Revolution) — It  would,  indeed!  It  would, 
indeed! 

(MISS  IRISH  REPUBLIC  seems  to  take  heart  at  sound  of 
chorus.) 

MISS  COLUMBIA — Explain  to  me  something  about  these  reprisals. 
I  do  not  know  about  them. 

MRS.  VICTIM  AND  CHILD — Then,  have  you  forgotten  me,  Colum¬ 
bia?  Forgotten  me  and  my  murdered  child?  We  slept  that 
night  long  ago  in  the  quiet  Cherry  Valley — our  men  folks  were 
away  in  Washington’s  army  trying  to  free  us  from  British  op¬ 
pression,  but  the  powerful  enemy  had  fed  up  the  savage  In¬ 
dians  with  fire-water  all  through  that  day,  and  in  the  dead  of 
night  we  heard  their  drunken  war-whoop  as  they  bore  down 
upon  the  valley,  on  the  helpless  women  and  children  left  at  home. 
We  peeked  out  the  door  to  see  blazing  torches  and  in  their  flare 
tomahawks  lifted  high  in  air.  My  child  and  I  crouched  back  in 
our  little  cabin,  praying  to  the  God  of  Mercy  to  protect  us  that 
night.  Oh,  Columbia,  did  you  not  hear  our  groans  when  the 
drunken  savages  entered  our  home  and  struck  my  child  and  me 
a  deadly  blow?  Have  you  forgotten  us  so  soon,  so  soon,  so  soon? 

MISS  COLUMBIA — But  they  have  no  drunken  savages  in  Ireland. 

MISS  I.  R.  (Leans  forward  and  whispers) — Oh,  yes,  the  Black  and 
Tans. 

MISS  COLUMBIA — And  surely  British  soldiers  would  not  do  these 
things! 

VICTIM  FROM  WAR  OF  1812  (our  second  war  fought  with  England) 
— Oh,  Miss  Columbia,  it  was  not  the  savage,  drunken  Indian  that 


9 


struck  the  blow  in  my  time.  Have  you  forgotten  the  infamous 
General  Cockburn,  who  burned  and  slaughtered  as  he  marched 
through  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas?  Yea,  burned  helpless  vic¬ 
tims  in  their  beds.  I  should  know,  for  I  am  one  of  them.  'Tis 
hard  to  think  that  you  have  so  soon  forgotten  me.* 

The  women  folk  who  tried  to  carry  me  from  my  bed  were 
shot  down  by  British  bullets  fired  by  British  soldiers.  Not 
drunken  savages,  but  British  officers  of  “law  and  order,”  set  fire 
to  the  house  in  which  I  lay  pinioned.  And  0  Columbia!  Even  now 
I  heard  you  say  you  do  not  understand  anything  about  British 
reprisals.  Then  I  am  forgotten. 

MISS  COLUMBIA  wipes  away  a  tear,  lovingly  strokes  Victim  of 
British  Reprisals,  and  says: 

MISS  COLUMBIA — No,  I  have  not  forgotten  you,  my  children,  and 
I  understand. 

Little  Jack  Tory  pulls  John  Bull  out,  and  he  creeps  back  of  the 
Ladies  toward  Miss  Columbia. 

MRS.  JAMES  MADISON  (Catching  sight  of  John  Bull  and  casting 
unfavorable  glances  in  his  direction) — ’Tis  well  we  force  you  to 
remember  these  things,  fair  Columbia;  forgetfulness  of  them 
would  spell  your  ruin. 

Already  cunning  Tory  fingers  are  blotting  what  they  dare  not 
erase  from  your  school  histories.  The  young  generation  is 
growing  up  without  learning  these  facts,  and,  without  such 
knowledge,  how  are  they  to  cling  loyally  to  the  true  spirit  of 
Americanism,  that  is — absolute  freedom  from  the  domination  of 
England  ? 

You  have  heard  the  sad  recital  of  individual  sorrows  caused 
by  British  reprisals,  but  surely  your  mind  sweeps  back  to  that 
August  day,  1814,  when  the  same  Cockburn,  joined  by  General 
Ross,  marched  on  Washington.  The  first  shot  fired  on  them 
from  a  window  of  a  house  along  the  road  was  answered  in  the 
usual  British  way:  every  member  within  that  house  was  put  to 
the  sword  by  General  Ross  and  the  house  itself  destroyed  by 
fire.  From  that  point  they  swept  the  city  with  flames,  as  they 
have  done  in  this  present  time  in  the  city  of  Cork.  I  well  re¬ 
member  my  own  effort  to  save  the  life-like  painting  of  the 
“Father  of  Our  Country,”  and  the  heroic  efforts  made  by  my 
husband,  James  Madison,  to  preserve  precious  documents. 

With  the  memory  of  Washington  afire  before  your  mind, 
is  it  not  easy  for  you  to  picture  the  devastation  British  officers 
have  wrought  in  the  stricken  country  of  Ireland? 

MISS  COLUMBIA — It  is  quite  easy  now  to  picture  her  distress. 

MRS.  THOMAS  JEFFERSON — Knowest  thou  this  pen,  Columbia? 
With  it  was  written  the  famous  Declaration  of  Independence.  My 
husband,  Thomas  Jefferson,  and  his  comrades  knew  well  the  bru¬ 
tality  of  British  rule  and  all  the  cunning  of  British  diplomacy. 
Long  years  after  he  penned  the  Declaration,  he  wrote  again  these 
truthful  words:*  “We  concur  in  considering  the  government  of 
England  as  totally  without  morality,  insolvent  beyond  bearing,  in¬ 
flated  with  vanity  and  ambition,  aiming  at  the  exclusive  dominion 
of  the  seas,  lost  in  corruption  and  deep  rooted  hatred  towards  us, 
hostile  to  liberty  wherever  it  endeavors  to  show  its  head,  and  the 
eternal  disturber  of  the  peace  of  the  world.”  Come,  Young 
America,  and  let  thy  country  feel  again  the  spirit  of  that  July 
4th,  1776. 

Enter  young  girl,  who  recites  “The  Liberty  Bell.”* 

MRS.  JOHN  ADAMS — British  cables  and  British  newspapers  have 

*  See  Note  on  pages  22  and  23. 


10 


been  quite  successful  in  keeping  the  news  from  you  and  from 
other  free  nations  of  the  earth  about  Ireland’s  struggle  for  free¬ 
dom.  You  remember,  however,  how  my  husband,  John  Adams, 
while  we  were  striving  for  our  recognition  among  the  free  na¬ 
tions,  had  to  overcome  British  falsehood  and  deceit  by  going 
himself  at  great  peril  to  European  capitols,  announcing  in  speech 
what  he  could  not  send  in  writing? 

Fair  Columbia,  the  second  president  of  the  Irish  Republic, 
Eamon  DeValera,  soldier,  statesman,  scholar  and  patriot  that 
he  is,  has  dared  many  perils  to  bring  to  our  people  by  word  of 
mouth  the  story  of  his  country’s  woes.  He  has  travelled  from 
city  to  city  over  our  land  implanting  his  message  with  lasting 
effect  in  millions  of  your  children’s  hearts. 

Just  as  my  husband’s  efforts  brought  fruit  in  our  time,  so 
may  his  now  bring  proper  results  in  the  present  day.  Scoffed 
and  scorned  as  a  British  rebel  by  England,  my  husband  was  still 
able  to  win  the  hearts  of  the  people  and  out  of  his  efforts,  as  well 
as  the  efforts  of  his  fellow  volunteers,  our  liberty  was  born. 

Should  you  not,  then,  in  fairness,  give  to  the  message  of 
Eamon  DeValera  your  earnest  and  just  consideration? 

MRS.  GEORGE  WASHINGTON— Fair  Columbia,  I  am  the  wife  of 
him  whom  you  call  your  greatest  son — George  Washington — the 
first  president  of  these  United  States,  and  titled  by  the  people 
“Father  of  His  Country.” 

Today,  fair  Columbia,  the  cunning  British  government  would 
carve  the  form  of  George  Washington  in  marble  and  give  it 
place  among  the  British  statesmen  in  Westminster,  but  in  the 
days  of  ’76  that  same  government  would  carve  his  living  flesh 
with  bayonets,  shouting  the  while  in  fiendish  glee:  “So  perish 
every  British  rebel!” 

In  justice  to  the  cause  of  liberty,  I  am  here  to  recall  to  your 
mind  that  the  first  president  of  the  Irish  Republic,  Padraic 
Pearse,  lies  buried  in  English  quicklime.  His  crime  is  identical 
with  the  crime  of  my  husband — ’tis  the  crime  of  unselfish  devo¬ 
tion  to  his  country. 

MISS  COLUMBIA  (turning  to  the  Irish  Republic) — Ah!  now  I  under¬ 
stand.  Treated  in  all  things  as  were  we,  you  have  determined,  at 
any  cost,  to  throw  off  the  shackles  of  British  domination,  de¬ 
claring  yourself  the  Re-pub — 

At  this  point  JOHN  BULL  nudges  Miss  Columbia;  his  shadow 
falling  upon  her. 

MISS  COLUMBIA  checks  her  expression  at  the  word  “Republic” 
and  continues  hesitatingly — 

Y-o-u  a-r-e  a  British  Dependency — a  colony  of  Great  Britain — 
and  the  matter  between  you  and  England  is  not  exactly  like  our 
own.  It  might  better  be  considered  a  domestic  question,  and,  as 
such,  must  be  left  entirely  to  Great  Britain’s  sense  of  justice. 

MISS  COLUMBIA  turns  her  head  away  from  the  Irish  Republic 
and  the  Women  of  the  Revolution  weep. 

MISS  FRANCE  hurries  in  across  the  stage. 

MISS  FRANCE — We  did  not  consider  your  struggle  with  England  a 
domestic  question.  We  gave  you  that  moral  strength  which  now 
this  new  republic  prays,  namely — recognition.  Both  you  and  I 
owe  this  fair  country  gratitude;  both  you  and  I  have  left  our 
pledges  to  her  unredeemed.  I  have  not  now  the  strength  to  assist 
her  as  I  had  to  assist  you  in  your  hour  of  greatest  need;  but, 
great  and  powerful  Columbia,  if  you  will  but  lead  the  way,  I 
shall  be  brave  to  follow  after.* 

*  See  Note  on  page  22. 


11 


JOHN  BULL  steps  closer  to  Columbia.  She  feels  again  the  influence 
of  his  shadow.  She  smiles  toward  the  Republic  of  France  and 
warns — “We  must  not  interfere.” 

MISS  COLUMBIA  marches  off  the  stage. 

WOMEN  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  and  1812  show  signs  of  weeping 
and  distress. 


CURTAIN 
SCENE  II. 

MISS  I.  R.  (Alone  with  Liberty) — The  great  shadow  of  falsehood  and 
cunning  has  fallen  on  truth.  Columbia  will  not  heed  my  cry  for 
help.  Oh,  Lady!  What  shall  I  do? 

LIBERTY  (Consoles  by  saying) — Take  heart  anew.  You  still  may 
call  on  justice.  The  Spirit  of  Justice  will  hear  your  cry.  Lo, 
he  comes,  he  comes. 

The  sound  of  Yankee  Doodle  and  in  comes  rollicking,  happy  UNCLE 
SAM,  pulling  his  long  gray  whiskers  and  dancing  to  the  tune  of 
Yankee  Doodle.  His  first  impulse  is  to  take  the  hand  of  Miss 
Irish  Republic  in  warm,  strengthening  grasp.  He  walks  toward 
her  and  she,  with  hopeful  expectancy,  steps  forth  to  be  recognized. 

MISS  I.  R. — I  see  you  know  me. 

UNCLE  SAM  (gushingly) — Know  you?  Why,  of  course,  I  know 
you,  old  girl.  Know  you?  Why,  I  have  known  you  ever  since 
I  was  born.  George  Washington  told  me  all  about  you.  George 
was  a  fine  British  rebel,  George  was.  (Chuckles  and  gives  Miss 
I.  R.  a  little  familiar  tap.) 

MISS  I.  R. — And  did  my  sons  not  help  him  in  his  struggle. 

UNCLE  SAM — Yes,  indeed,  Yes  indeed.  They  gave  him  powerful 
help  in  the  days  of  ’76.  Let  me  see.  There  were  thirteen  of 
your  boys  acting  as  generals  in  his  army. 

MISS  I.  R. — And  were  there  none  of  mine  to  help  him  on  the  high 
seas  ? 

UNCLE  SAM — Yes,  indeed,  That  Wexford  lad  of  yours,  Jack  Barry,* 
beat  the  British  all  to  pieces  on  the  high  seas.  The  boys  of  ’76 
were  mighty  proud  of  Jack  Barry;  They  christened  him  “The 
Father  of  the  American  navy.” 

MISS  I.  R.  (eagerly) — And  do  they  call  him  that  now? 

UNCLE  SAM — Don’t  know  whether  we  call  him  by  that  name  nowa¬ 
days  or  not. 

MISS  I.  R. — Then  you  know  me. 

UNCLE  SAM — Of  course  I  know  you.  And,  then  there’s  Woodrow. 
He  thought  about  you  before  he  sent  my  boys  to  the  fight  over¬ 
seas.  God  knows  you  have  been  oppressed  long  enough,  and  I 
was  glad  for  your  sake  in  April,  1917,  when  I  heard  Woodrow’s 
voice  sounding  like  a  megaphone  to  the  uttermost  corners  of  the 
earth,  “We  enter  this  war  to  make  the  world  safe  for  democracy 
and  to  free  oppressed  small  nations  everywhere.  We  enter  this 
was  to  overthrow  militarism  and  end  all  war  forever,  bringing 
to  all  peoples  the  lasting  enjoyment  of  peace.” 

*  See  Note  on  page  24. 


12 


Yes,  yes,  Woodrow’s  fourteen  points  sounded  good  to  me.  I 
called  my  boys  together.  Everyone  of  them  was  glad  and  willing 
to  go  “Over  There”  to  straighten  things  out  for  you  as  well  as 
Belgium. 

Yes,  I  know  you.  You  are  the  REPUB — 

At  this  point  JOHN  BULL  passes  directly  behind  Uncle  Sam;  his 
shadow  falls  across  Uncle  Sam,  whose  manners  change  as  did 
Miss  Columbia’s.  Uncle  Sam  extends  his  hand  more  slowly  and 
hesitatingly  says — 

You’re  the  British  colony  of  Ireland,  are  you  not? 

MISS  I.  R. — No,  no,  I  am  not  that!  I  am  not  that!  I  am  not  that! 
Call  me  by  my  right  name.  Oh,  just  power  among  the  nations, 
have  the  bravery  to  call  me  by  my  right  name,  and  it  will  give 
me  strength  and  aid  beyond  your  believing. 

JOHN  BULL’S  shadow  still  falls  on  Uncle  Sam. 

UNCLE  SAM  (As  if  contradicting  his  own  noble  inclination)  says — 
Well,  that’s  the  only  name  I  know,  British  Colony  of  Ireland. 
I’m  sorry  if  it’s  not  the  right  one,  but  it’s  the  best  I  can  give  you. 
Good  day,  madam. 

Off  whistles  UNCLE  SAM. 


CURTAIN 


SCENE  III. 

MISS  I.  R.  (Weeping  at  the  feet  of  Liberty) — Alone!  Alone!  Alone! 
The  same  dread  shadow  has  fallen  athwart  justice. 

LIBERTY — Despair  not.  Though  truth  and  justice  have  failed,  yet 
there  is  mercy.  I  hear  her  coming. 

SPIRIT  OF  RED  CROSS  approaches,  calling  in  a  soft,  tender  tone — 
Who  is  it  that  needs  me?  I  hear  the  sound  of  weeping  and  I 
come  with  speed  and  help  wherever  suffering  calls. 

MISS  I.  R.  (raising  her  head) — Then  you  will  give  help  to  me?  Who 
are  you,  kind  lady? 

SPIRIT  OF  THE  RED  CROSS— I  am  the  spirit  of  the  Red  Cross.  My 
message  is  ever  the  message  of  mercy.  My  hands  are  bounteously 
laden  with  help  and  comfort  for  the  needy.  I  go  wherever  the 
voice  of  affliction  calls.  In  war’s  red  path  I  follow  to  nurse  the 
wounded,  to  bury  the  dead,  and  to  comfort  the  living  that 
mourn.  In  the  lonesome  peace  that  follows  war  I  strive  ever  to 
comfort  the  comfortless  and  to  give  helpful  service  to  those  boys 
who  have  come  back  sick  or  wounded. 

I  gather  together  money  and  willing  workers  that  I  may 
be  able  in  times  of  peril  and  disaster  to  lend  prompt  and  ef¬ 
ficient  aid. 

I  have  no  thought  of  nation  or  creed,  but  in  the  name  of 
humanity  I  bestow  my  blessing  on  all  that  suffer.  Men  call  me 
“the  Greatest  Mother  in  the  World.” 

MISS  I.  R.  (rising) — Strange  if  you  be  that  spirit  of  mercy,  you  have 
never  come  to  offer  help  to  me. 

SPIRIT  OF  RED  CROSS — Who  are  you,  my  child,  and  do  you  suffer? 

13 


MISS  I.  R. — Indeed  I  suffer.  (Enter  young  girl,  who  reads  for 
Miss  Red  Cross  letter  received  from  lady  in  Ireland.*)  (Any  letter 
giving  latest  news  from  Ireland  may  be  used).  That  is  but  a 
glimpse  of  my  suffering.  For  centuries  I  have  suffered  and  I 
have  called  for  help  to  every  nation  in  the  world.  Oh!  Spirit  of 
the  Red  Cross,  my  men  are  brave;  my  women  are  pure  and 
brave  like  unto  my  men;  my  very  children  strive  to  assist  their 
struggling  country  by  deeds  of  valor. 

An  unjust  and  powerful  enemy  has  taken  possession  of  my 
land.  Because  he  has  strength  and  wealth  and  great  brutality  h§ 
overcomes  my  every  attempt  at  freedom. 

My  bravest  sons  in  April,  1916,  headed  a  rising,  and,  like 
to  the  Minute  Men  of  Boston,  they  peppered  the  “red-coats”  in 
O’Connell  street  in  Dublin.  Since  that  latest  glorious  attempt 
to  shake  off  the  British  yoke,  soldiers  and  savages  let  loose  from 
England  have  ravaged  my  land  and  murdered  my  people.  De¬ 
spite  all  this,  the  bravery  of  my  people  has  not  diminished  and 
they  still  stand  united  in  their  desire  for  a  government  of  the 
people,  for  the  people  and  by  the  people.  Oh!  Lady  of  Mercy 
I  am  that  Government;  I  am  the  Republic  of  Ireland. 

RED  CROSS  seems  inclined  to  help  her — moved  by  her  story. 

Shadow  of  JOHN  BULL  draws  near.  His  shadow  falls  athwart  Red 
Cross.  Her  attitude  changes. 

SPIRIT  OF  RED  CROSS — I  think  I  can  not  help  you.  Your  case 
falls  under  the  care  of  the  British  Red  Cross. 

M$SS  I.  R. — 0  add  not  insult  to  injury!  What  have  I  to  crave  of 
the  British  Red  Cross?  The  British  Red  Cross  lends  its  aid  to 
my  murderers!  But  you  have  vast  wealth  and  willing  hands 
without  number. 

SPIRIT  OF  RED  CROSS — Yes,  I  have,  it  is  true,  but  these  are  for 
suffering  countries. 

MISS  I.  R. — And  do  you  not,  then,  think  I  am  a  suffering  country? 

SPIRIT  OF  RED  CROSS — I  mean  Czecho-Slovakia  and  Roumania, 
Servia,  Poland  and  poor  little  Belgium — poor,  little,  tortured  Bel¬ 
gium.  The  Huns  have  done  such  deadly  work  in  Belgium. 

MISS  I.  R. — The  Huns  in  Belgium?  No,  the  real  Huns  are  in  my 
land.  But  you  come  not,  Oh,  Spirit  of  the  Red  Cross,  to  see  the 
havoc  they  work  there.  You  are  still  busy  doing  deeds  of  mercy 
in  Belgium,  but  you  step  not  your  foot  on  my  shores,  though  your 
presence  there  would  practically  end  my  suffering. 

Th6  hypocrite  who  piously  called  your  attention  to  the  atroci¬ 
ties  committed  in  war’s  red  heat  by  another  nation,  would  fear  to 
let  you;  witness  the  ten  times  deadlier  crimes  he,  himself,  is 
committing  in  poor,  little,  tortured  Ireland. 

Here  the  SPIRIT  OF  THE  RED  CROSS,  horrified,  reaches  out  to  Miss 
Irish  Republic  as  if  inclined  to  do  her  bidding.  John  Bull  draws 
closer  to  her.  Her  manner  changes. 

SPIRIT  OF  RED  CROSS — No,  I  can  not  offer  to  help  you. 

MISS  I.  R. — And  have  you  not  a  dollar  for  me?  Not  one  dollar  and 
not  a  worker,  and  will  you  not  come  to  staunch  the  life  blood  of 
'  my  sons  or  save  my  starving  children?  Will  you  not  try  to  save 
my  mothers  that  are  being  shot  down  ere  their  babies  have  come 
unto  the  light  of  day? 

*  See  Note  on  page  26. 


14 


JOHN  BULL  draws  nearer. 

SPIRIT  OF  RED  CROSS — No,  I  have  not  a  single  dollar,  not  a  single 
worker  for  you.  I  am  sorry,  but  this  one  call  for  mercy  I  dare  not 
heed. 

RED  CROSS  marches  from  stage  as  if  distressed. 

MISS  I.  R.  (Alone  with  Liberty) — Why  dare  she  not  help  me?  The 
same  shadow  that  has  darkened  truth  and  justice  has  also  come 
between  me  and  mercy’s  tender  spirit.  There  is  no  mercy  where 
my  fate  is  concerned. 

Little  ANGEL  WHITE  CROSS  enters  quietly,  makes  her  way  to  the 
disconsolate  Irish  Republic  and  in  tender,  loving  fashion,  begins — 
Oh,  tortured  Irish  Republic,  I  am  so  sorry  for  you.  I  know  how 
much  you  are  suffering.  I  wish  I  could  give  you  all  the  help 
you  need,  but  I  am  weak,  I  am  small,  I  am  very  young.  I  have 
neither  great  wealth  nor  many  workers  to  do  for  you  those  deeds 
of  mercy  which  should  be  done,  but  I  am  trying  hard  to  grow  big 
and  strong  and  I  believe  I  soon  shall  have  enough  wealth  to  give 
you  comforting  aid.  Already  I  have  started  my  works  of  mercy 
in  your  land  and  out  from  the  great  city  of  Chicago  will  soon  go 
much  money  and  many  workers  to  comfort  your  distress.  I  am 
most  sorry  for  your  starving  children;  of  these  I  think  day  and 
night  and  I  call  upon  the  mothers  all  over  this  generous  land 
of  America  to  have  pity  on  them. 

People  of  every  nation  and  of  every  creed  are  coming  to 
know  about  you  and  your  suffering  and  to  understand  that  the 
Red  Cross  is  not  offering  you  any  assistance  and  these  good 
people  everywhere  will  give  to  me  that  I  may  give  to  you — brave, 
tortured  Republic  of  Ireland. 

MISS  IRISH  REPUBLIC  smiles  a  smile  of  gratitude. 

Little  ANGEL  WHITE  CROSS  kisses  her. 

CURTAIN. 

SCENE  IV. 

MISS  IRISH  REPUBLIC  (Walking  back  and  forth  across  stage). — As 
my  brave  son,  Eamonn  De  Valera  says:  “I  can  be  patient,  I  can 
endure,  I  can  suffer  but  I  can  not  win  my  liberty  if  none  will 
offer  help.” 

LIBERTY — Oh!  Be  not  uncomforted.  Surely  there  is  help  for  thee 
somewhere.  W'e  still  have  brave  hope  to.  call  upon.  Hark!  Hope¬ 
ful  sounds  approach. 

Sound  of  music. 

Enter  YANKS,  singing  “We  Won’t  Come  Back  Till  It’s  Over,  Over 
There,”  parading  by  Liberty  and  Irish  Republic,  then,  standing  at 
attention,  soldiers  salute  Liberty  and  then  turn  to  Miss  Irish 
Republic,  offering  her  the  same  salute.  Her  whole  attitude 
changes.  A  smile  comes  upon  her  face. 

MISS  I.  R. — You  know  me,  then? 

SOLDIERS  (in  chorus) — Yes,  we  know  you  and  salute  you.  You  are 
the  Republic  of  Ireland. 

MISS  I.  R. — I  am.  I  am.  ’Tis  the  first  time  I  have  been  called  by 
my  right  name.  Oh!  can  you  not  help  me?  My  task  is  great, 
indeed,  and  the  despot’s  heel  is  crushing  out  the  life  of  my 
children. 

SOLDIER — Have  you  explained  your  plight  to  Uncle  Sam? 


15 


t 


MISS  I.  R. — I  have  tried  to. 

SOLDIERS  (In  chorus) — And  what  has  he  promised  to  do? 

MISS  I.  R. — He  has  promised  me  nothing. 

SOLDIER— Nothing! 

SOLDIER — Uncle  Sam  turned  you  down? 

SOLDIER — Impossible! 

SOLDIER — Uncle  Sam  turned  you  down.  That’s  a  mistake,  that’s  a 
mistake. 

SOLDIER — Why,  Uncle  Sam  is  the  best  fellow  that  ever  stepped  in 
shoe  leather. 

SOLDIER— Why,  HE’S  JUSTICE  PERSONIFIED. 

SOLDIER — And,  say,  he  can  feel  for  you  alright.  He’s  gone  through 
the  same  bitter  ordeal  himself. 

SOLDIER — Yes,  not  once,  but  twice. 

MISS  I.  R. — That’s  what  I  cannot  make  him  understand!  I  can  not 
make  him  understand  that  my  cause  is  identical  with  his  own. 
A  shadow  falls  ever  between  him  and  me.  ' 

SOLDIERS  (In  chorus) — Well,  we  can  make  him  understand.  Why, 
we’ll  tell  him. 

MISS  I.  R. — Oh,  boys,  do  tell  him;  do  make  him  understand.  Unless 
your  great  nation  offers  help,  I  perish,  and  militarism — not  mil¬ 
itarism  alone — but  absolute  savagery  supplants  the  world’s  civ¬ 
ilization. 

SOLDIER — No,  you  don’t  perish.  We  fought  a  great  war  to  make 
the  world  safe  for  democracy,  and  I  guess  Ireland  is  in  the  world, 
isn’t  it,  and  that  means  that  it’s  got  to  be  kept  safe  for  democracy. 

SOLDIERS  (In  chorus)— Call  Uncle  Sam. 

BUGLE  notes  sound  to  call  Uncle  Sam. 

Re-enter  Uncle  Sam. 

UNCLE  SAM — Well,  boys,  what  can  I  do  for  you. 

SOLDIERS — Why,  Uncle  Sam,  we  just  want  you  to  live  up  to  your 
promise.  That’s  all,  and  you’re  just  enough  for  that,  aren’t  you  ? 

UNCLE  SAM — What’s  my  promise,  boys?  What’s  my  promise? 

FIRST  SOLDIER — Why,  you  promised  us  that  if  we  entered  this 
war,  the  world  would  be  made  safe  for  democracy. 

SOLDIER — We  want  democracy  to  be  safe  in  Ireland. 

SOLDIER — Ninety  percent  of  the  people  have  voted  for  a  republic 
“Over  There.”  Let  them  have  it.  Let  them  have  it. 

UNCLE  SAM  pulls  his  beard  and  looks  a  bit  puzzled. 

SOLDIER — And  didn’t  you  promise,  Uncle  Sam,  that  this  war  was  to 
put  an  end  to  militarism  ? 

UNCLE  SAM — I  sure  did,  boys.  I  sure  did. 

SOLDIER — Then  why  is  English  militarism  allowed  to  continue  in 
Ireland? 

UNCLE  SAM — That’s  a  domestic  question,  boys.  We  must  not  butt  in. 

SOLDIER — Oh,  no  you  don’t  Uncle  Sam.  Be  just,  now,  and  fearless, 
too.  We’ll  not  take  that  for  an  answer,  Uncle  Sam. 


16 


SOLDIER — It  was  more  of  a  domestic  question  when  you  sent  us 
“Over  There.”  It  was  a  regular  family  row — two  cousins  at 
each  other’s  throat,  but  you  butted  in  and  many  of  your  boys, 
thousands  of  them  have  never  come  back  from  “Over  There.” 

UNCLE  SAM  looks  thoughtful. 

SPIRIT  OF  DEAD  BOYS  passing,  in  ghost  fashion,  across  stage. 

SPIRIT  OF  DEAD  BOYS  (In  hollow  voice) — No,  Uncle  Sam,  many  of 
us  boys  have  died  on  foreign  fields  because  you  mixed  up  in  a 
royal  family  row,  but  our  spirit  calls  on  God  to  witness  the  words 
you  spoke  when  you  bade  us  cross  the  seas  to  enter  that  fight. 
From  the  great  spirit  world  we  now  charge  you,  Uncle  Sam,  to 
keep  your  promise  to  this  little  oppressed  nation  and  to  the  whole 
wide  world. 

UNCLE  SAM — What  would  you  have  me  do,  oh,  Spirit  of  my  Dead 
Boys?  Would  you  have  me  send  the  living  again  into  the 
maelstrom  of  war? 

SPIRIT  OF  DEAD  BOYS— No!  No!  No!  We  entered  the  great  fight 
and  sacrificed  our  lives  to  put  an  end  to  war  forever  and  forever. 

SOLDIERS  (In  chorus) — That’s  it,  Uncle  Sam.  That’s  it.  No  more 
war  for  us. 

SPIRIT  OF  DEAD  BOYS  walks  off  the  stage. 

UNCLE  SAM — What  shall  I  do,  boys?  It’s  up  to  you  to  tell  me. 

SOLDIER — Uncle  Sam,  it  takes  money  and  men  to  make  war.  Eng¬ 
land  has  both  and  she  is  using  both  to  massacre  Ireland  and  to 
retard  the  progress  of  the  whole  world’s  civilization,  spending  a 
million  a  day  and  using  200,000  men  or  more  for  purposes  of  de¬ 
struction  and  slaughter. 

UNCLE  SAM — What  shall  I  do,  boys?  After  all,  you’re  the  ones  to 
please,  you’re  the  ones  that  suffered,  you’re  the  ones  that  paid  the 
price.  Tell  me  what  to  do. 

SOLDIER — It’s  as  easy  as  rolling  off  a  log,  Uncle  Sam.  First,  salute 
the  Lady.  You  have  done  the  same  act  to  other  countries  in  her 
plight  eleven  times  before. 

UNCLE  SAM — Just  as  you  want  it,  boys.  T  salute  thee,  Republic  of 
Ireland.  (Pleasing  commotion  among  soldiers,  in  chorus  they 
shout:  ’At  a  boy!  ’At  a  boy!  etc.)  Uncle  Sam  turns  and  helps 
Irish  Republic  to  seat  at  right  of  Liberty.  Columbia  appears  tak¬ 
ing  her  seat  on  other  side  of  Liberty  and  the  two  Republics  grasp 
hands  in  friendliness,  smiled  on  by  Liberty. 

Is  that  all  you  want  me  to  do,  boys?  (Uncle  Sam,  moves 
up  stage,  boys  circling  round  him). 

SOLDIER — Nb,  there’s  a  few  more  things,  Uncle  Sam,  so  that  mil¬ 
itarism  may  perish  from  the  earth.  Call  back  your  loan  to  Eng¬ 
land.  She’s  using  your  good  money  for  foul  purposes.  Finance 
no  more  Brixton  or  Balbrige’an  tragedies  for  any  land  under  the 
sun.  The  world  is  sick  of  Black  and  Tan  butchery  and  the  dead 
flesh  of  it,  as  the  English  Labor  party  says,  “stinks  in  the  nostrils 
of  the  world.” 

SOLDIER — Mothers  everywhere  are  praying  for  the  dawn  of  peace. 
Peace  can  not  come  while  Tories  run  the  press  of  other  nations. 
Bid  these  Tories  take  hands  off  YOUR  press.  Uncle  Sam.  HAVE 
AN  AMERICAN  PRESS  FOR  AN  AMERICAN  PEOPLE  and 
then  what  Thomas  Jefferson  calls  “the  eternal  disturber  of  the 
peace  of  the  world”  can  not  soon  again  upset  the  peace  of  our 
fair  country. 

Enter,  gradually,  all  Ladies  of  Revolution,  etc. 

UNCLE  SAM — Very  well,  I’ll  have  Warren  G.  Harding  carry  out  your 
wishes  to  the  letter  as  soon  as  possible;  and:  now  boys,  let’s  sing! 
The  entire  Chorus  breaks  out  in  “The  Star  Spangled  Banner.” 

17 


THE  BOSTON  TEA-PARTY 
A.  D.  1773 


By  George  Bancroft 

(From  “Great  Events  by  Famous  Historians”) 


On  Sunday,  November  28th,  the  ship  “Dartmouth”  appeared  in 
Boston  Harbor  with  one  hundred  fourteen  chests  of  the  East  India 
Company’s  tea.  To  keep  the  Sabbath  strictly  was  the  New  England 
usage.  But  hours  were  precious;  let  the  tea  be  entered,  and  it  would 
be  beyond  the  power  of  the  consignees  to  send  it  back.  The  selectmen 
held  one  meeting  by  day  and  another  in  the  evening,  but  they  sought 
in  vain  for  the  consignees,  who  had  taken  sanctuary  in  the  CASTLE. 

The  committee  of  correspondence  was  more  efficient.  They  met 
also  on  Sunday,  and  obtained  from  the  Quaker  Rotch,  who  owned  the 
“Dartmouth,”  a  promise  not  to  enter  his  ship  till  Tuesday;  and 
authorized  Samuel  Adams  to  invite  the  committees  of  the  five  sur¬ 
rounding  towns,  Dorchester,  Roxbury,  Brookline,  Cambridge,  and 
Charleston,  with  their  own  townsmen  and  those  of  Boston,  to  hold  a 
mass  meeting  the  next  morning.  Faneuil  Hall  could  not  contain  the 
people  that  poured  in  on  Monday.  The  concourse  was  the  largest 
ever  known.  Adjourning  to  “the  Old  South”  Meeting-house,  Jonathan 
Williams  DID  NOT  FEAR  TO  ACT  AS  MODERATOR,  NOR  SAM¬ 
UEL  ADAMS.  HANCOCK,  MOLINEUX,  AND  WARREN  TO  CON¬ 
DUCT  THE  BUSINESS  OF  THE  MEETING.  On  the  motion  of 
Samuel  Adams,  who  entered  fully  into  the  question,  the  assembly, 
composed  of  upward  of  five  thousand  persons,  resolved  unanimously 
that  “the  tea  should  be  sent  back  to  the  place  from  whence  it  came 
at  all  events,  and  that  no  duty  should  be  paid  on  it.”  “The  only  way 
to  get  rid  of  it,”  said  Young,  “is  to  throw  it  overboard.”  The  wrath 
of  the  meeting  was  kindling,  when  the  Sheriff  of  Suffolk  entered 
with  a  proclamation  from  the  Governor,  “warning,  exhorting,  and  re¬ 
quiring  them,  and  each  of  them  there  unlawfully  assembled,  forthwith 
to  disperse,  and  to  surcease  all  further  unlawful  proceedings,  at  their 
utmost  peril.”  The  words  were  received  with  hisses,  derision,  and  a 
unanimous  vote  not  to  disperse.  “Will  it  be  safe  for  the  consignees 
to  appear  in  the  meeting?”  asked  Copley;  and  all  with  one  voice  re¬ 
sponded  that  they  might  safely  come  and  return;  but  they  refused 
to  appear.  In  the  afternoon  Rotch,  the  owner,  and  Hall,  the  master, 
of  the  Dartmouth,  yielding  to  an  irresistible  impulse,  engaged  that 
the  tea  should  return  as  it  came,  without  touching  land  or  paying  a 
duty.  Similar  promises  were  exacted  of  the  owners  of  the  other 
tea-ships  whose  arrival  was  daily  expected.  In  this  way  “it  was 
thought  the  matter  would  have  ended.”  “I  SHOULD  BE  WILLING 
TO  SPEND  MY  FORTUNE  AND  MY  LIFE  ITSELF  IN  SO  GOOD 
A  CAUSE,”  said  Hancock,  and  this  sentiment  was  general;  they  all 
voted  “to  carry  their  resolutions  into  effect  at  the  risk  of  their  lives 
and  property.” 

On  Saturday,  the  11th,  Rotch,  the  owner  of  the  “Dartmouth,”  is 
summoned  before  the  Boston  committee  with  Samuel  Adams  in  the 
chair,  and  asked  why  he  has  not  kept  his  engagement  to  take  his 
vessel  and  the  tea  back  to  London  within  twenty  days  of  its  arrival. 
He  pleaded  that  it  was  out  of  his  power.  “The  ship  must  go,”  was 
the  answer;  “the  people  of  Boston  and  the  neighboring  towns  abso¬ 
lutely  require  and  expect  it,”  and  they  bade  him  ask  for  a  clearance 
and  pass,  with  proper  witnesses  of  his  demand.  “Were  it  mine,”  said 
a  leading  merchant,  “I  would  certainly  send  it  back.”  Hutchinson 
acquainted  Admiral  Montagu  with  what  was  passing;  on  which  the 
“Active”  and  the  “Kingfisher,”  though  they  had  been  laid  up  for  the 


18 


winter,  were  sent  to  guard  the  passages  out  of  the  harbor.  At  the 
same  time  orders  were  given  by  the  Governor  to  load  guns  at  the 
Castle,  so  that  no  vessel,  except  coasters,  might  go  to  sea  without  a 
permit.  He  had  no  thought  of  what  was  to  happen;  the  wealth  of 
Hancock,  Phillips,  Rowe,  Dennie  and  so  many  other  men  of  property 
seemed  to  him  a  security  against  violence;  and  he  flattered  himself 
that  he  had  increased  the  perplexities  of  the  committee.” 

The  decisive  day  draws  nearer  and  nearer;  on  the  morning  of 
Monday,  the  13th,  the  committees  of  the  five  towns  are  at  Faneuil 
Hall,  with  that  of  Boston.  Now  that  danger  was  really  at  hand,  the 
men  of  the  little  town  of  Malden  offered  their  blood  and  their  treasure; 
for  that  which  they  once  esteemed  the  MOTHER-COUNTRY  HAD 
LOST  THE  TENDERNESS  OF  A  PARENT  AND  BECOME  THEIR 
GREAT  OPPRESSOR.  “WE  TRUST  IN  GOD,”  wrote  the  men  of 
Lexington,  “THAT  SHOULD  THE  STATE  OF  OUR  AFFAIRS  RE¬ 
QUIRE  IT,  WE  SHALL  BE  READY  TO  SACRIFICE  OUR  ESTATES 
AND  EVERYTHING  DEAR  IN  LIFE,  YEA,  AND  LIFE  ITSELF, 
IN  SUPPORT  OF  THE  COMMON  CAUSE.” 

The  line  of  policy  adopted  was,  if  possible,  to  get  the  tea  carried 
back  to  London  uninjured  in  the  vessel  in  which  it  came.  A  meeting 
of  the  people  on  Tuesday  afternoon  directed  and,  as  it  were,  “com¬ 
pelled”  Rotch,  the  owner  of  the  “Dartmouth,”  to  apply  for  a  clearance. 
He  did  so,  accompanied  by  Kent,  Samuel  Adams  and  eight  others  as 
witnesses.  The  collector  was  at  his  lodgings,  and  refused  to  answer 
till  the  next  morning;  the  assemblage,  on  their  part,  adjourned  to 
Thursday,  the  16th,  the  last  of  the  twenty  days  before  it  would  become 
legal  for  the  revenue  officers  to  take  possession  of  the  ship  and  so 
land  the  teas  at  the  CASTLE. 

At  ten  o’clock  on  the  15th,  Rotch  was  escorted  by  his  witnesses 
to  the  custom-house,  where  the  collector  and  comptroller  unequivocally 
and  finally  refused  to  grant  his  ship  a  clearance  till  it  should  be  dis¬ 
charged  of  the  teas. 

Hutchinson  began  to  clutch  at  victory;  “for,”  said  he,  “it  is  notor¬ 
ious  the  ship  cannot  pass  the  Castle  without  a  permit  from  me,  and 
that  I  shall  refuse.”  On  that  day  the  people  of  Fitchburg  pledged 
their  word  “never  to  be  wanting  according  to  their  small  ability”; 
for  “they  had  indeed  an  ambition  to  be  known  to  the  world  and  to 
posterity  as  friends  to  liberty.”  The  men  of  Gloucester  also  expressed 
their  joy  at  Boston’s  glorious  opposition,  cried  with  one  voice  that  “no 
tea  subject  to  a  duty  should  be  landed”  in  their  town,  and  held  them¬ 
selves  ready  for  the  last  appeal. 

The  morning  of  Thursday,  December  16,  1773,  dawned  upon 
Boston,  a  day  by  far  the  most  momentous  in  its  annals.  Beware,  little 
town;  count  the  cost,  and  know  well,  IF  YOU  DARE  DEFY  THE 
WRATH  OF  GREAT  BRITAIN,  AND  IF  YOU  LOVE  EXILE  AND 
POVERTY  AND  DEATH  RATHER  THAN  SUBMISSION.  The 
town  of  Portsmouth  held  its  meeting  on  that  morning,  and,  with  six 
only  protesting,  i£s  people  adopted  the  principles  of  Philadelphia,  ap¬ 
pointed  their  committee  of  correspondence,  and  resolved  to  make  com¬ 
mon  cause  with  the  colonies.  At  ten  o’clock  the  people  of  Boston,  with 
at  least  two  thousand  men  from  the  country,  assembled  in  the  Old 
South. 

The  Governor  had  stolen  away  to  his  country  house  at  Milton. 
Bidding  Rotch  make  all  haste,  the  meeting  adjourned  to  three  in  the 
afternoon.  At  that  hour  Rotch  had  not  returned.  It  was  incidentally 
voted,  as  other  towns  had  already  done,  to  abstain  totally  from  the 
use  of  tea;  and  every  town  was  advised  to  appoint  its  committee  of 
inspection,  to  prevent  the  detested  tea  from  coming  within  any  of 
them.  Then,  since  the  Governor  might  refuse  his  pass,  the  momentous 
question  recurred,  “Whether  it  be  the  sense  and  determination  of  this 


19 


suffering  the  tea  to  be  landed.”  On  this  question  Samuel  Adams  and 
Young  addressed  the  meeting,  which  was  become  far  the  most  numer¬ 
ous  ever  held  in  Boston,  embracing  seven  thousand  men.  “Now  that 
the  hand  is  to  the  plough  there  must  be  no  looking  back”  and  the 
whole  assembly  of  seven  thousand  voted  unanimously  that  the  tea 
should  not  be  landed. 

It  had  been  dark  for  more  than  an  hour.  The  church  in  which 
they  met  was  dimly  lighted,  when  at  a  quarter  before  six  Rotch  ap¬ 
peared,  and  satisfied  the  people  by  relating  that  the  Governor  had 
refused  him  a  pass,  because  his  ship  was  not  properly  cleared.  As 
soon  as  he  had  finished  his  report,  Samuel  Adams  rose  and  gave  the 
word:  “This  meeting  can  do  nothing  more  to  save  the  country.”  On 
the  instant  a  shout  was  heard  at  the  porch;  a  war-whoop  resounded; 
a  body  of  men,  forty  or  fifty  in  number,  disguised  as  Indians,  passed 
by  the  door  and,  encouraged  by  Samuel  Adams,  Hancock  and  others, 
repaired  to  Griffin’s  wharf,  posted  guards  to  prevent  the  intrusion  of 
spies,  took  possession  of  the  three  tea-ships,  and  in  about  three  hours 
three  hundred  forty  chests  of  tea,  being  the  whole  quantity  that  had 
been  imported,  were  emptied  into  the  bay  without  the  least  injury  to 
other  property. 


PAUL  REVERE’S  RIDE 
By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 


Listen,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 
Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere, 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-five: 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 

Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 

He  said  to  his  friend — “If  the  British  march 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  tonight, 

Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry-arch 

Of  the  North-Church  tower,  as  a  signal  light — 

One  if  by  land,  and  two  if  by  sea; 

And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be, 

Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 
Through  every  Middlesex,  village  and  farm, 

For  the  country-folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm.” 

Then  he  said  good-night,  and  with  muffled  oar 
Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore, 

Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay, 

Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 
The  Somerset,  British  man-of-war: 

A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 
Across  the  moon,  like  a  prison-bar, 

And  a  huge,  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 
By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 

Meanwhile,  his  friend,  through  alley  and  street 
Wanders  and  watches  with  eager  ears, 

Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 
The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack-door, 

The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 

And  the  measured  tread  of  the  grenadiers 
Marching  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 

Then  he  climbed  to  the  tower  of  the  church, 

Up  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread, 


20 


To  the  belfry-chamber  overhead, 

And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 
On  the  sombre  rafters,  that  round  him  made 
Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade — 

Up  the  light  ladder,  slender  and  tall, 

To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall, 

Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 
A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  quiet  town, 

And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  all. 

Beneath,  in  the  churchyard  lay  the  dead 
In  their  night  encampment  on  the  hill, 

Wrapped  in  silence  so  deep  and  still, 

That  he  could  hear,  like  a  sentineTs  tread 
The  watchful  night-wind  as  it  went 
Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent, 

And  seeming  to  whisper  “All  is  well!” 

A  moment  only  he  feels  the  spell 

Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  the  secret  dread 

Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead; 

For  suddenly  all  thoughts  are  bent 
On  a  shadowy  something  far  away, 

Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay — 

A  line  of  black,  that  bends  and  floats 
On  the  rising  tide,  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride, 

Booted  and  spurred  with  a  heavy  stride, 

On  the  opposite  shore  walked  Paul  Revere. 

Now  he  patted  his  horse’s  side, 

Now  gazed  on  the  landscape  far  and  near, 

Then  impetuous  stamped  the  earth, 

And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle  girth; 

But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 
The  belfry  tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 

As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill, 

Lonely,  and  spectral,  and  sombre,  and  still. 

And  lo!  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry’s  height, 

A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light! 

He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 

But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 
A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns. 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village-street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 

And  beneath  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 
Struck  out  by  a  steed  that  flies  fearless  and  fleet: 

That  was  all!  And  yet,  through  the  gloom  and  the  light, 
The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night; 

And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed  in  his  flight, 
Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 

It  was  twelve  by  the  village-clock, 

When  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  Medford  town, 

He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock, 

And  the  barking  of  the  farmer’s  dog, 

And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river-fog 
That  rises  when  the  sun  goes  down. 

It  was  one  by  the  village-clock, 

When  he  rode  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 
Swing  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed, 


21 


And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 

It  was  two  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  came  by  the  bridge  in  Concord  town. 
He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock, 

And  the  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees, 

And  felt  the  breath  of  the  morning  breeze 
Blowing  over  the  meadows  brown. 

And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed, 

Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 

Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead, 

Pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball. 

You  know  the  rest.  In  the  books  you  have  read 
How  the  British  regulars  fired  and  fled — 

How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball, 

From  behind  each  fence  and  farmyard  wall, 
Chasing  the  red-coats  down  the  lane, 

Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road, 

And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 

So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere; 

And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of  alarm 
To  every  Middlesex,  village  and  farm — 

A  cry  of  defiance,  and  not  of  fear — 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door, 
And  a  word  that  shall  echo  for  evermore! 

For,  borne  on  the  night-wind  of  the  Past, 
Through  all  our  history,  to  the  last, 

In  the  hour  of  darkness,  and  peril,  and  need, 

The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 
The  hurrying  hoof-beat  of  that  steed, 

And  the  midnight-message  of  Paul  Revere. 


WAR  OF  1812,  GENERAL  COCKBURN’S  ARMY 
(From  Barnes’  School  History.) 


In  the  spring  the  British  began  devastating  the  Southern  coast. 
Admiral  Cockburn,  especially,  disgraced  the  British  navy  by  conduct 
worse  than  that  of  Cornwallis  in  the  Revolution.  Along  the  Virginia 
and  Carolina  coast  he  burned  bridges,  farmhouses,  and  villages; 
robbed  the  inhabitants  of  their  crops,  stock,  and  slaves;  plundered 
churches  of  their  communion  services;  and  murdered  the  sick  in 
their  beds. 


AN  UNREDEEMED  PLEDGE 

(Sent  by  Franklin  from  France  to  “the  Good  People  of  Ireland,” 

October  4,  1878) 

i 

“The  misery  and  distress  which  your  ill-fated  country  has  been 
so  frequently  exposed  to  and  has  so  often  experienced  by  such  a  com¬ 
bination  of  rapine,  treachery  and  violence,  as  would  have  disgraced 
the  name  of  government  in  the  most  arbitrary  country  of  the  world, 
has  most  sincerely  affected  your  friends  in  America,  and  has  engaged 
the  most  serious  attention  of  Congress. 

22 


“I  have  in  my  commission  to  repeat  to  you,  my  good  friends,  the 
cordial  concern  that  Congress  takes  in  everything  that  relates  to  the 
happiness  of  Ireland;  they  are  sensibly  affected  by  the  load  of  op¬ 
pressive  pensions  on  your  establishment;  the  arbitrary  and  illegal 
exactions  of  public  money  by  King’s  letters;  the  profuse  dissipation  by 
sinecure  appointments  with  large  salaries;  and  the  very  arbitrary  and 
impolitic  restrictions  of  your  trade  and  manufacturers,  which  are  be¬ 
yond  example  in  the  history  of  the  world.  .  .  . 

“We  congratulate  you,  however,  on  the  bright  prospect  which 
the  western  hemisphere  has  afforded  to  you  and  the  oppressed  of  every 
nation,  and  we  trust  that  the  liberation  of  your  country  has  been 
effected  in  America,  and  that  you  never  will  be  called  on  for  those 
painful  necessary  exertions  which  the  sacred  love  of  liberty  inspires 
and  which  have  enabled  us  to  establish  our  freedom  forever.  .  .  . 

But  if  the  government  whom  you  at  this  time  acknowledge  does  not, 
in  conformity  to  her  own  true  interest,  take  off  and  remove  every 
restraint  on  your  trade,  commerce  and  manufactures,  I  am  charged 
to  assure  you  that  means  will  be  found  to  establish  your  freedom,  in 
the  fullest  and  amplest  manner.  And,  as  it  is  the  ardent  wish  of 
America  to  promote,  as  far  as  her  other  engagements  will  permit,  a 
reciprocal  commercial  interest  with  you,  I  am  to  assure  you  they  will 
seek  every  means  to  establish  and  extend  it;  and  it  has  given  the  most 
sensible  pleasure  to  have  those  instructions  to  my  care,  as  I  have 
ever  retained  the  most  perfect  good  will  and  esteem  for  the  people 
of  Ireland.” 

— (Thomas  Jefferson  in  letter  to  Thomas  Liper,  June  12th,  1815.) 


THE  LIBERTY  BELL 


There  was  tumult  in  the  city, 

In  the  quaint  old  Quaker  town 
And  the  streets  were  rife  with  people, 
Pacing  restless  up  and  down. 

People  gathering  at  corners, 

Where  they  whispered  each  to  each 
And  the  sweat  stood  on  their  temples 
With  the  earnestness  of  speech. 

As  the  bleak  Atlantic  currents, 

Lash  the  wild  Newfoundland  shore, 

So  they  beat  against  the  state  house, 

So  they  surged  against  the  door; 

And  the  mingling  of  their  voices 
Made  a  harmony  profound, 

Till  the  quiet  street  of  Chestnut, 

Was  turbulent  with  sound. 

“Will  they  do  it?”  “Dare  they  do  it?” 
“Who  is  speaking?”  “What’s  the  news?” 
“What  of  Adams?”  “What  of  Sherman?” 
“Oh,  God  grant  they  wont  refuse.” 

“Make  some  way  there!”  “Let  me  nearer!” 
“I  am  stifling!”  “Stifle,  then! 

When  a  nation’s  life’s  at  hazard, 

We’ve  no  time  to  think  of  men.” 

So  they  beat  against  the  portal, 

Man  and  woman,  maid  and  child; 

And  the  July  sun  in  heaven, 

On  the  scene  looked  down  and  smiled. 

The  same  sun  that  saw  the  Spartan 

23* 


Shed  his  patriot  blood  in  vain, 

Now,  beheld  the  soul  of  freedom, 

All  unconquered,  rise  again. 

See!  See!  The  dense  crowd  quivers, 
Through  all  its  lengthy  line, 

As  the  boy  beside  the  portal, 

Looked  forth  to  give  the  sign. 

With  his  little  hands  uplifted, 

Breezes  dallying  with  his  hair. 

Hark!  with  deep,  clear  intonation 
Breaks  his  young  voice  on  the  air. 

Hushed  the  people’s  swelling  murmur, 
List  the  boy’s  exultant  cry: 

“Ring!”  he  shouts,  “Ring  Grandpa! 

Ring!  Oh,  ring  for  Liberty!” 

Quickly  at  the  given  signal 
The  bell  man  raised  his  hand, 

Forth  he  sent  the  good  news 
Making  iron  music  throughout  the  land. 

How  they  shouted!  What  rejoicing! 

How  the  old  bell  shook  the  air, 

Till  the  clang  of  freedom  ruffled 
The  calm  gliding  Delaware. 

How  the  bonfires  and  the  torches, 

Lighted  up  the  night’s  repose, 

And  from  the  flames,  like  fabled  Phoenix, 
Our  glorious  Liberty  arose. 

That  old  State  House  bell  is  silent, 

Hushed  is  now  its  clamorous  tongue, 

But  the  spirit  it  awakened 
Still  is  living,  ever  young. 

And  when  we  greet  the  smiling  sunlight, 
On  the  Fourth  of  each  July, 

We  will  not  forget  the  bell-man, 

Who,  betwixt  the  earth  and  sky, 

Rang  out  loudly,  “Independence!” 

Which,  please  God,  shall  never  die! 


COMMODORE  JACK  BARRY 


Combine  From  Encyclopedia  and 
McCarthy’s  School  History 


John  Barry,  Captain  in  the  United  States  Navy,  born  at  Tacum- 
shane,  County  Wexford,  Ireland,  in  1745;  died  at  Philadelphia,  13th 
September,  1803.  At  an  early  age  Barry  went  to  sea.  He  arrived 
at  Philadelphia  when  he  was  fifteen  years  old,  and  made  that  city  his 
home  to  the  time  of  his  death.  He  was  employed  in  the  West  Indian 
trade  and  commanded  several  vessels  until  December,  1774,  when 
he  sailed  from  Philadelphia  as  captain  of  a  fine  large  ship,  “The  Black 
Prince,”  bound  for  Bristol,  England,  returning  to  Philadelphia  13th 
October,  1775,  the  day  the  Continental  Congress,  then  in  session  there, 
authorized  the  purchase  of  two  armed  vessels  for  the  beginning  of  the 
Continental  Navy.  Barry  immediately  volunteered  his  services,  and 
he  was  assigned  to  the  command  of  the  first  vessel  purchased,  the 


24 


“Lexington.”  His  commission  was  dated  7th  December,  1775,  the  first 
issued  by  the  Marine  Committee  of  the  Continental  Congress. 

« 

Early  in  1776  Captain  Barry  and  his  cruiser  the  “Lexington”  left 
the  capes  of  the  Delaware.  In  a  spirited  action  of  an  hour,  on  the 
6th  of  April  following,  he  took  the  “Edward,”  an  armed  tender. 
With  his  damaged  prize  he  eluded  the  British  warships  in  the  Dela¬ 
ware  and  safely  arrived  in  Philadelphia.  The  “Edward”  was  the  first 
vessel  captured  by  a  commissioned  officer  of  the  United  States. 

In  the  “Lexington,”  Barry  captured  several  other  ships  of  the 
enemy;  he  then  returned  to  Philadelphia,  where  he  superintended  the 
building  of  warships.  His  success  led  to  his  appointment  as  com¬ 
mander  of  the  “Effingham,”  a  frigate  whose  construction  he  was  direct¬ 
ing.  While  waiting  for  its  completion,  in  1777,  he  performed  an  ex¬ 
traordinary  exploit. 

Noticing  in  the  Delaware,  below  Philadelphia,  a  large  schooner 
flying  the  British  flag  and  attended  by  four  armed  transports  loaded 
with  supplies  for  the  enemy,  Barry  manned  four  rowboats  and  silently 
drifted  down  stream.  At  night  with  muffled  oarlocks  they  passed  the 
guarded  river  front  and  at  daybreak  were  alongside  the  armed 
schooner.  Before  the  British  were  aware  of  the  approach  of  an 
enemy,  Barry,  armed  with  pistol  and  cutlass,  was  clambering  over 
the  vessel’s  side,  his  gallant  band  behind  him.  Throwing  down  their 
arms-,  the  astonished  British  fled  below,  where  they  were  fastened 
under  the  hatches. 

Those  on  the  transports  were  ordered  by  Barry  to  surrender  or 
be  sunk.  They  had  no  choice.  In  sight  of  a  heavily  armed  British 
warship  he  then  took  his  five  prizes  into  Fort  Penn,  turning  the 
transports  over  to  its  commander.  Then  the  hatches  were  unfastened 
and  the  prisoners  ordered  on  deck.  Barry  and  his  twenty-seven  sailors 
had  captured  six  officers  and  one  hundred  and  thirty  armed  men. 
Speaking  of  this  exploit  the  historian  Frost  says:  “For  boldness  of 
design  and  dexterity  of  execution  it  was  not  surpassed  during  the 
war.”  Washington  publicly  thanked  Barry  and  his  men  for  their 
extraordinary  achievement. 

After  the  British  took  Philadelphia  they  succeeded  in  destroying 
the  EFFINGHAM.  Barry  was  next  appointed  to  the  command  of 
the  ALLIANCE,  the  finest  vessel  of  the  Continental  navy.  In  1781 
this  ship  fought  and  defeated  in  a  single  engagement  the  ATALANTA 
and  the  TREPASSY.  So  severe  was  the  fighting,  which  lasted  from 
daybreak  till  evening,  that  the  three  ships  were  badly  damaged 
and  Barry  was  wounded.  Another  double  victory  was  gained  over  the 
MARS  and  the  MINERVA.  Besides  these  four  vessels  and  their  of¬ 
ficers,  the  ALLIANCE  took  more  than  four  hundred  prisoners.  Later 
she  also  captured  the  ALERT.  On  another  voyage  the  ALLIANCE 
made  nine  important  prizes,  sending  five  home  and  disposing  of  four 
in  France. 

In  March,  1783,  Barry  left  Havana  in  the  ALLIANCE  with  the 
DUC  DE  LAUZUN.  Both  ships  were  carrying  for  the  United  States 
government  a  large  amount  of  gold  and  silver.  They  were  attacked  by 
the  SYBILLE,  followed  at  short  distance  by  two  other  English  war¬ 
ships.  Before  their  arrival  the  SYBILLE  had  put  up  a  signal  of  dis¬ 
tress.  Though  a  French  warship  had  come  up,  she  took  no  part  in 
the  engagement,  but  her  presence  gave  confidence  to  Barry.  This 
was  the  last  fight  of  the  Revolution,  for  peace  was  declared  April 
11,  1783. 


25 


LETTER  FROM  THE  NOTED  WRITER, 
GERALDINE  PENROSE  FITZGERALD 


I  was  delighted  and  proud  to  see  my  name  in  your  lecture  list 
of  those  who  love  Ireland;  indeed  I  do  love  her,  and  wish  I  could  do 
one  half  as  much  as  the  other  honored  names  have  done.** 

The  latest  cruel  order  is  this:  General  Strictland,  of  course  at 
the  bidding  of  Carson,  has  ordered  that  the  curfew  is  to  begin  in 
Ireland  at  five  o’clock  on  Saturdays  and  Sundays  Fancy  no  one  to 
stir  out  after  five  o’clock! — the  time  the  poor  shop  assistants,  who 
are  shut  up  all  day,  have  to  get  the  fresh  air. 

I  have  just  been  to  Cork  visiting  some  of  the  poor  people.  Imagine 
what  it  is  for  a  man  with  six  or  seven  sons,  high-spirited  boys,  all 
to  be  shut  in  one  or  at  most  two  rooms,  with  the  mother  dandling 
a  crying  baby,  and  ordered  not  to  leave  under  pain  of  being  shot  dead. 
The  boys  accustomed  to  be  out  all  day  long,  now  with  hardly  standing 
room  from  five  o’clock  until  the  next  morning  and  nothing  on  earth 
to  do  except  look  at  their  poor  ruined  town  and  the  ashes  of  their 
late  home.  It  is  driving  the  people  just  stark,  staring  mad.  Cork 
is  one  huge  jail,  and  soon  it  will  be  one  huge  lunatic  asylum.  I  sup¬ 
pose  this  is  what  Carson  wants  and  this  is  diabolical  cruelty  such  as 
the  worst  savages  never  invented. 

I  spoke  to  a  number  of  residents  in  Cork  today  (January  27th, 
1921),  and  they  all  agreed  that  this  was  quite  the  worst  thing  that 
England  had  done  to  Ireland  yet.  You  may  recover  money,  you  may 
rebuild  houses,  but  you  cannot  restore  reason  to  the  insane.  The 
unfortunate  people  cannot  even  put  their  heads  out  the  window  after 
five  o’clock  or  they  will  be  shot  at  once.  Saturday  and  Sunday  were 
quite  hot,  soft,  balmy  days,  when  ordinarily  the  whole  of  Cork  would 
be  out  getting  the  air  until  quite  late.  It  was  a  full  moon  and  the 
atmosphere  like  summer.  Consider  a  large  family  stuffed  in  a  small 
tenement  room  at  five  o’clock  when  it  was  quite  broad  daylight — the 
boys  and  girls  cooped  up  like  hens  in  a  roost.  Two  girls  were  already 
ill,  and  a  little  boy,  four  years  old,  half  paralyzed  since  the  night  of 
the  great  fire.  He  got  such  a  terror  on  him  that  it  paralyzed  him, 
although  he  was  very  strong  before  and  running  about  with  rosy 
cheeks.  Now  he  has  to  be  carried  everywhere  by  his  sisters  or 
brothers. 

We  are  praying  and  imploring  God  to  send  some  one  to  help  us 
before  we  are  all  driven  mad.  They  must  be  quick,  though,  as  a 
few  more  Saturdays  and  Sundays  will  finish  thousands.  Of  course 
the  law  does  not  apply  to  Queenstown  as  yet,  but  we  never  know 
when  it  may  come.  It  is  without  exception  the  most  fiendish  cruelty 
the  mind  of  man  ever  devised.  The  doctors,  most  Protestant  Union¬ 
ists,  condemn  the  cruelty  and  say  that  its  effects  will  be  disastrous 
beyond  what  any  one  can  imagine.  First:  They  burn  our  beautiful 
towns  down,  then  they  force  us  to  sit  locked  up  in  some  wretched 
garret  where  we  had  to  flee  from  our  ruined  homes  to  now  contem¬ 
plate  the  wrecks  of  all  we  once  held  dear.  We  are  still  looking  to 
America  to  rise  up  and  help  us. 

Make  our  terrible  plight  in  Cork  known  throughout  the  United 
States!  Tell  every  one  England  has  outdone  herself  in  tarbarism 
and  the  effects  are  appalling! 

Do  help  us  or  it  will  be  too  late. 


26 


Extract  from  Dr.  Cotter’s  Lecture  on — SPIRIT  OF  LIBERTY 

**The  volunteers  of  Ireland,  working  not  for  wages  but  for  pure 
love  of  country,  are  the  only  preservers  of  law  and  order  in  Ireland. 
They  have  resolved  to  bite  the  dust  rather  than  kiss  it — to  die  fighting 
for  freedom  rather  than  live  ignobly  as  serfs. 

“Molded  in  Colossal  Calm”  the  volunteers,  very  angels  of  liberty, 
as  they  are  the  only  band  in  the  wide  world  inspired  by  pious  patriot¬ 
ism,  will  never,  never  submit  to  the  savage  invader.  On  their  mar¬ 
velous  patience,  England’s  mad  purpose  will  split.  “The  Soldier's 
Song”  chants  the  chivalrous  and  daring  intent  of  Ireland’s  Republican 
Army: 

“Sworn  to  be  free,  no  more  our  ancient  sire-land 
Shall  shelter  the  despot  or  the  slave.” 

“You  cannot  destroy  the  radiant  spirit  of  Irish  liberty;  England 
has  used  all  her  war  equipment,  backed  by  unbridled  madmen,  against 
it,  has  failed,  destroyed  her  owm  honor  in  the  failure  and  skulked 
away  to  hide  her  shame  in  the  Citadel  of  Calumny,  her  Parliament. 
Yes,  tyranny  may  murder  the  mothers  of  Erin,  as  it  did  Mrs.  Quinn 
of  Kiltartan  (the  while  humanity  protects  the  very  birds  of  the  air 
in  their  brooding  season),  but  the  spirit  of  freedom  will  immortalize 
the  mother  and  make  the  children  left  behind  vow  new  vows  that  the 
martyr’s  memory  may  not  perish  from  grateful  hearts.  Tyranny  may 
gloat  over  the  burning  towns  of  Ireland,  as  Nero  did  over  Rome,  but 
tyranny  cannot,  dare  not,  burn,  no  nor  scorch,  the  spiri  of  liberty 
that  reanimating  the  nation  will  build  again  the  town  as  an  expression 
of  freemen’s  enterprise  as  well  as  a  lasting  reminder  of  the  murderous 
destroyer. 

“Despotism  may  hunt  to  the  hills  the  homeless,  but  the  fine  spirit 
of  freedom  is  before  them  there,  breathing  its  native  mountain  air. 
Cruelty  may  feed  its  cemeteries,  but  at  the  brink  of  the  grave  the 
breath  of  freedom's  spirit  grows  warmer  with  a  new  prayer,  for  the 
dead  rise  again.  The  bullet  was  never  made  that  can  pierce  Irish 
freedom;  the  rope  was  never  woven  that  can  strangle  its  present 
aspirations.  Dark  is  Rosaleen  today,  but  she  will  come  out  from 
eclipse  all  the  brighter,  despite  the  drunken  deviltries  of  the  Black 
and  Tan  that  have  so  blackened  England  and  so  tanned  her  history 
that  all  the  seas  her  fleets  sail  over  cannot  whiten  the  one  or  wash 
clean  the  other. 

“You  cannot  break  the  spirit  of  a  nation  that  can  parent  men  like 
MacSwiney,  who  beat  an  empire  panoplied  in  steel.  You  cannot 
break  the  spirit  of  a  nation  that  parented  boys  like  Kevin  Barry,  wiio 
could  not  be  bribed  from  fidelity  to  his  country  through  the  offering 
of  his  life  enriched  by  fortune.  You  cannot  break  the  spirit  of  a 
nation  that  has  daughters  like  Miss  Mary  MacSwiney,  the  Countess 
Markievicz,  Mrs.  Pearse,  Miss  Geraldine  Penrose  Fitzgerald  or  Miss 
Madge  Daly.  No,  the  spirit  of  Ireland  will  never,  never  perish;  it  is 
as  immortal  as  man’s  soul.” 


27 


UNIVERSITY  OF  IL1  INOiS-i  irra  na 


3  0112  072378596 


